Who Said It Would Be Easy?

by Cheryl Faye

“Well, I can understand that. I’m sure Brother behind the bar is more apt to notice two beautiful ladies like you before this guy,” Stefàn commented as he tilted his head toward his friend.

  “Julian Walker, and thank you again for your assistance,” he said softly, shaking both of their hands.

  “Are you guys friends of Terry’s or family?” Charisse asked.

  “Friends,” Stefàn answered.

  “We play ball together,” Julian added.

  “Here you go, partner,” the bartender said as he placed Julian’s drink on the bar.

  “Can I get a Ketel One shot with a 7-Up chaser, please?” Stefàn asked.

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks.” Addressing the women, Stefàn asked, “Do you ladies live in the city?”

  “I live in Brooklyn,” Myra answered.

  “I live in New Jersey,” Charisse said.

  “Where about?” asked Stefàn.

  “Englewood.”

  Apparently amazed, Stefàn responded, “Oh, yeah? We’re in Teaneck.”

  “Small world,” said Charisse.

  “No doubt,” Stefàn murmured with that seductive glint still flickering in his eyes.

  “You guys live together?” Myra asked.

  An emphatic “No!” issued from both men’s mouths.

  “We’re just good friends,” Stefàn stated.

  “Been hangin’ since junior high school,” Julian added.

  “Oh, okay,” Myra said.

  The bartender returned with Stefàn’s drink, which he placed on the bar. “Thank you.” Reaching for the shot glass, he said, “So, Charisse, I guess your whole family’s here, huh?”

  “Pretty much.” Pointing to the photographer who was going around the room taking pictures of the guests, she said, “That’s my brother right there.”

  “I’m guessing,” said Stefàn, “since neither of you are wearing wedding bands, that you’re both single.”

  “You guessed correctly,” Charisse said with a coy smile.

  “And I don’t have to worry about anyone running up on me if I stand too close to you, do I?” Stefàn asked. As he put the shot glass to his lips and downed the clear liquid in one swallow, he looked at Charisse in a manner that indicated he wanted to get even closer.

  Feeling suddenly anxious about Stefàn’s suggestive words and mannerisms, she nevertheless answered, “No, you don’t.”

  “Charisse, don’t believe a word he says to you.”

  Turning at this audible intrusion, the quartet was joined by the best man, Don Wilson, who had, at one time, tried to get close to Charisse.

  Smiling patiently, Charisse said, “Hi, Don.”

  Reaching behind Charisse and placing the shot glass back on the bar, Stefàn retrieved his soda. Then, flicking his thumb in Don’s direction, he mockingly asked, “You know this guy?”

  “Yeah, she knows me but she doesn’t wanna know you, so leave the lady alone,” Don jokingly instructed.

  Exchanging a soulful handshake with the newcomer, Stefàn asked, “Whassup, dog?”

  “You, man.” Turning to Julian, who he likewise greeted, Don said, “Whassup, Dub?”

  “How you been, man? We haven’t seen you on the courts in a while. Don’t tell me we scared your behind off the last time you were out?” Julian teased.

  “Yeah, right, you wish. I’ve been out of town on business. Just got back in yesterday morning,” Don said. Turning his attention away from the men, he then asked, “So how have you been, Charisse?” as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

  “I’ve been great. Did you ever meet my girlfriend, Myra?”

  “No, I haven’t. How are you?” Don asked, extending his hand to her.

  Myra gently shook it. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “This is Terry’s brother, Myra.”

  “Yeah, I was gonna say. You look a lot like him. Are you older or younger?” she asked.

  “Older.”

  “Are they about to make an appearance?” Julian then asked Don.

  “Yeah, I just came in to tell everyone to head on into the banquet hall. The party’s about to begin.”

  Shaking Don’s hand once again, Stefàn said, “All right, Bro, we’ll see you inside.”

  “No doubt.”

  As Don walked away from them, Stefàn asked, “So, Charisse, will you promise to save a dance for me?”

  “I guess so, but don’t expect me to come looking for you,” she smugly answered to cover the unease he caused in her.

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ll be keeping my eyes on you,” he provocatively stated as his pupils bore through her.

  CHAPTER 2

  AN OFFER SHE COULDN’T REFUSE

  Two hours later, the wedding reception was in full swing. Jewel had tossed her bouquet to the throng of enthusiastic bachelorettes, and Charisse had earnestly tried to catch it.

  Choosing not to participate in that portion of the festivities, Myra, who had no desire to marry or have children, remained at their table and watched. She was soured to the institution of marriage due to her parents’ failed union. Having watched her mother struggle to raise seven children on her own after their father had left them, Myra refused to be put in a similar situation.

  To their guests’ delight, immediately following the tossing of the bouquet, Terrance made quite a show of retrieving Jewel’s garter. Eager, excited, eligible bachelors lined up to catch the meager adornment. Julian, a successful litigation attorney at an up-and-coming firm in New York City, however, was the lucky gent who had the pleasure of sliding the frilly lace up the shapely leg of the woman who’d caught Jewel’s arrangement. Considering how suggestively he had performed the ritual, Charisse was glad she hadn’t caught her cousin’s bouquet.

  Thoroughly enjoying Julian’s show, Stefàn, like Myra, sat out this event as he, too, had no desire to give up his freedom.

  After dinner was served and the wedding cake had been cut, the skillful deejay set out to entertain the revelers with music that kept them on the floor for almost every song. Myra and Charisse had no shortage of dance partners, and Julian was also enjoying himself on the floor. Stefàn, however, danced only a few times, opting instead, to watch from the sidelines.

  Although numerous women at the festivities had made no secret of their desire to become better acquainted with Stefàn and he pretended to welcome their advances, he was inexplicably captivated by Charisse and repeatedly found his eyes drawn to her. Something about her attracted him like a magnet. As beautiful and alluring as she was, there was a deeper influence he could not readily explain. Understanding that her obvious comfort at this celebration was probably due to the presence of her family, Stefàn noticed—as he watched her dance and laugh and flit around the hall—that she was something of a flirt. He was tickled because she was actually quite cute with it. He could tell she wasn’t trying to be a tease; she was simply enjoying the attention she was receiving from the male guests.

  Stefàn chuckled as he watched the best man coming on to her. Grinning up at Don, who was nearly as tall as Stefàn, Charisse whispered something close to his ear, then turned and walked away. Seemingly unable to move for quite a while after she had left him, it was obvious that Don was affected by whatever she’d said, as well as by her naturally sensuous strut.

  In the next few minutes, the deejay slowed the music down. That was when Stefàn rose from his seat. Slowly making his way across the room in Charisse’s direction, he watched as another man approached her for a dance. Never hesitating in his advance, instinct told him that Charisse was the type of women who didn’t make a habit of dancing slow with men she didn’t know. His ego, however, had him convinced she would dance with him.

  As expected, Charisse turned the guy down but seemingly in a manner which did no major damage to the guy’s self-esteem. Stefàn liked that.

  Continuing toward her, Stefàn saw that she was talking with an older gentleman who was seat
ed at her table. Stefàn acknowledged the man with a nod, before he interrupted them.

  “Excuse me, Miss Ellison.”

  Turning, Charisse looked up.

  He extended his hand and asked, “May I have this dance?”

  “Stefàn, I.…”

  “You promised,” he reminded her before she could refuse him completely.

  His piercing gaze held her captive as it had earlier, and she was momentarily enthralled. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, since I try not to break my promises, I guess you may.” Turning to her table mate, she said, “Excuse me, Daddy.”

  “Oh, Mr. Ellison.” Immediately offering his hand to her father, he introduced himself. “I’m Stefàn Cooper. It’s nice to meet you, sir. Do you mind if I borrow your daughter for a dance?”

  Smiling, Mr. Ellison shook Stefàn’s hand as he said, “Not if she doesn’t.”

  Again offering Charisse his hand—which she took—Stefàn led her to a place on the floor in the midst of the many couples already there, yet strangely, they were alone in a world exclusively constructed for the two of them.

  Pulling her into his arms, Stefàn was cautious about holding her too close. Aside from the fact that he was slightly aroused by her closeness, the protective eyes of her father were watching them.

  Charisse’s own heart was racing. The excitement this man inspired was brand new to her. Mmm, he smells so good. What is that he’s wearing? she wondered.

  Her head came right up to his chin, and what she didn’t know was that he delighted in the clean, citrusy scent of her hair. Decoding her tentativeness while perceiving her tension, he figured some friendly conversation would relax her. “You thought I forgot about you, didn’t you?”

  She looked up at him, and when he met her eyes—the most beautiful fiery brown eyes he had ever gazed into—something inside of him changed. A sudden and quite uncommon sense of uncertainty washed over him.

  “No, I figured it was a line you used all the time,” she said with a coolness she in no way felt. “I didn’t take you very seriously.”

  “Ouch,” he intoned. Stunned by her candor, he felt as if he had been slapped. Not expecting such a cold response from her, he was also surprised at how much her words actually stung. “Why would you think that when you don’t even know me?”

  “Well, you have a way about you. You seem to be…quite sure of yourself.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “No, but…. I don’t know, it’s like you expect people—women, that is—to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ when you walk into a room.”

  Immediately transported back to his childhood, Stefàn recalled the original Batman television series. Whenever the Dynamic Duo were embroiled in a fight with the evil villain, words like POW and BAM would flash across the screen with every blow. That was the image that went through Stefàn’s mind with Charisse’s words. “Boy, you don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you?”

  Diffidently, she remarked, “If I’m wrong, please feel free to correct me.” Let me be wrong, God.

  What am I supposed to say to that? he simultaneously wondered. On more occasions than not, he had noticed women stop their conversations to gawk at him when he walked by. It had happened so often in the past that he had come to expect it, so he couldn’t refute what she said without lying to himself. With less confidence, he insisted, “I’m not as self-centered as you make me sound.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Having never been at a loss for words in the presence of a beautiful woman, Stefàn found himself swimming uncharted waters, defending himself in a manner he had never had to before. “I may come off as… I’m really a regular guy trying to make it in this dog-eat-dog world like everyone else.”

  Looking up at him cynically, Charisse asked, “Are you really a regular guy?”

  Knowing she was baiting him now, he decided to play her game. “No, I’m not. I’m anything but, if you want to know the truth,” he stated with an air of arrogance that belied his still uncharacteristic unease.

  “I didn’t think so,” she derisively murmured. He has one dimple, she noticed as her racing pulse betrayed her outward calm.

  Defensively, he continued, “You see me as some Casanova Brown-type dude, but think about it. What makes a man like that, a man like that?” Giving her only a moment to consider his question, he quickly answered, “Women!” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do women make it so easy for us, then complain when we take what they’re throwing at us?”

  Oh, no his fine behind didn’t! Relinquishing all cool, she stated without hesitation, “First of all, you won’t ever find me complaining, because I don’t throw myself at anyone. Why other women do what they do, I can’t say. But you talk about dog eat dog… There are a lot more single women out there than there are single men, and, sadly, a whole lot of women who don’t feel complete without a man, will do just about anything to get one.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “Of course not! I don’t need a man. I mean, it would be nice to have someone special who I could share my life with, but I don’t need a man to be happy or to feel complete. I have everything I need ’cause God loves me and I love Him. I can go where I want, when I want, with whom I want. I’ve been blessed with a great career. I own my own home. I’m about to buy myself a new car for my birthday.”

  “Oh, yeah? When’s your birthday?” Realizing he had met his match but was unprepared to deal with the reality of that meeting, he immediately steered the conversation to less volatile territory at the opening she unwittingly provided.

  Unprepared for the abrupt change of subject, Charisse hesitated a moment before answering. “August sixth.”

  “Aah, Leo.” That explains her fiery attitude.

  “Yeah, Leo, so?”

  “Nothing,” he replied with a smirk. “What kind of car are you buying?”

  “A Corvette.”

  He was surprised, but with her spirited temperament, he shouldn’t have been. It fit perfectly with her demeanor. “You like fast cars?”

  “Yes, I do. I collect them.”

  “You collect fast cars?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  Laughing now, Charisse replied, “Yeah, I wish. I collect miniatures of fast cars and high end cars. Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Jaguars, et cetera.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “How’d you get into that?”

  “My father used to participate in drag races when he was younger and used to take my brothers to the races all the time. I had to beg him to take me with them ’cause that was their guy thing, but once I went, I was hooked. I love fast cars. I couldn’t wait to learn how to drive.”

  “You don’t drag, do you?”

  Cutting her eyes at him, she chuckled. “No, I’m not that daring.”

  Stefàn laughed.

  Looking down at her as they continued their dance, Stefàn marveled at her uniqueness. Charisse’s conversation was delightfully refreshing—once he had gotten through her attack unscathed, that is. She piqued his curiosity. Is she a church girl? he wondered. She did say something about God, didn’t she? Knowing he would undoubtedly enjoy getting physical with her, talking to her only cemented his interest. Combined with her stunning beauty, her wit and whimsy were unlike anything he had ever encountered from the opposite sex.

  In the next seconds, the deejay changed the tempo of the music, bringing an end to their dance. Charisse’s arms fell away from him and she took a step back.

  “Well, it was nice chatting with you,” she nonchalantly stated and started away without the slightest hesitation. Whew! That was close.

  “Charisse.”

  “Oh, no,” she grumbled under her breath. Be cool, girl. Stopping in her tracks, she turned back to him. “Yes?”

  Feeling a strange and uncomfortable sense of apprehension in his gut, he drank in her beauty for a lo
ng moment before he asked, “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?”

  “No, but I’ve thought about taking lessons to learn how to drive one,” she admitted with a bright smile. “Myra thinks I’m crazy.” Why’s he asking me about motorcycles? she wondered.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Going to church.”

  Taking a step to close the distance between them, he asked, “What time do you get out of church?”

  Looking up at him questioningly, she answered, “About eleven o’clock. Why?”

  “I’m going to a cycler’s get-together tomorrow in Connecticut. There’ll be live music, plenty of great food and good folks. Why don’t you take a ride with me?”

  “You have a motorcycle?”

  “Yeah. A few years ago a couple of my friends and I made a bet over some beers that we’d all buy bikes, learn how to ride them and start a little club, you know?”

  “Doing that macho thing, huh?”

  Laughing, he had to agree. “Anyway, only Dub and I and one other dude actually followed through.”

  “Who’s Dub?”

  “Oh, that’s Julian. Dub is short for the W in his last name.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, what d’you say? Want to take a ride to Connecticut with me?”

  “I don’t know, Stefàn,” she hedged.

  “You’ll be perfectly safe,” he assured her as they slowly strolled back to her table.

  Stefàn volunteered information about his motorcycle driving safety record, the proposed rendezvous time and the company they would be joining on this excursion. When he informed her that he was originally planning to go alone, despite his friends all bringing a companion, she inquired as to why.

  “Well, honestly, because it’s a pretty diverse crowd that attends these gatherings and I don’t want to have to listen to anyone moaning and groaning about the people there. You strike me as an open-minded sister, and I think you’d enjoy the diversity of this type of get-together.”

  “Thank you, but I’m probably more conservative than you think,” she told him. After pausing momentarily, she continued, “But you know what? I think I will join you. I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle and, well, something about you gives me the sense that you’re as safe a driver as you say you are.”